As Alys made her way down to the river, the basket of linens balanced on her hip, the sun rose steadily behind her, casting longer shadows as it warmed the village. The peaceful quiet of early morning was beginning to give way to the bustle of the day. From the shed where the chickens roamed, she could hear her brothers stirring inside the house, voices carrying faintly on the breeze.
Back at home, her father would soon rise as well. He wasn't one to sleep much past dawn, not with work to be done. The family relied on him to provide meat through his small trapping ventures, as well as help in the fields when needed. He wasn't a full hunter—he had no bow or arrows, no hunting dogs—but he knew how to set traps. His skill lay in catching small game: rabbits, pheasants, and sometimes the odd squirrel or two. The pelts, when undamaged, were valuable to trade with merchants passing through the village. They sold the best furs, saving the worn ones to patch together into blankets for the cold Riverland winters.
Alys's brothers, Edd and Tommy, were younger by a few years but already old enough to help out. The grain fields behind their small house were their primary responsibility. Every day, the boys would check the barley, oats, and rye, ensuring the crops were growing properly. It was grueling work, but necessary. What they didn't consume, the local lord would demand as tax—his cut of the harvest. Alys often worried about the coming season. Their grain yield wasn't always bountiful, and if they didn't produce enough, the family could be left with little to sustain them through the winter.
Today, though, she focused on the task at hand. She reached the riverbank, where the Vâltoare stood—a simple, but useful structure that allowed the women of the village to wash clothes using the natural flow of the river. The sound of the rushing water was soothing as she set her basket down and began preparing to clean the linens.
She plunged the first cloth into the water, letting the current carry away the dirt and grime that had accumulated. It was hard work, but Alys had grown used to it over the years. Washing by hand was the only way she knew, and the Vâltoare made it easier than scrubbing in a simple basin back at home. She scrubbed at the fabric, her hands steady as she worked the soap into the linen.
As she washed, she could see the faint outlines of the fields beyond the village, where her brothers would soon be making their way to start their work. The fields weren't large, but they were vital to the family's survival. Alys remembered her father telling them once, with a half-hearted chuckle, "The lord's tax comes first, and then we take what's left." It was no joke, but a hard reality. The best portions of the grain went to the lord, and the family had to make do with what remained.
Meanwhile, Back at the House
Alys's father, Duncan, stirred from his sleep, the faint light of the morning creeping through the cracks in the shutters. His body ached as it often did after years of setting traps and working the fields. He wasn't as young as he used to be, and the burden of providing for his family weighed on him. But there was no time for complaints.
He rolled out of bed quietly, mindful not to wake his boys just yet. They'd have their work soon enough, but for now, he could use the quiet to check his traps.
Pulling on his boots, Duncan grabbed his small bundle of supplies—a few simple snares he'd made himself—and headed outside. The fresh morning air was a welcome relief after the stuffy warmth of the house. He made his way past the grain fields, where the crops were just beginning to grow tall. The boys would tend to them today, but Duncan always kept a watchful eye on the fields, knowing how important every stalk of grain was. The lord's men would be by come harvest time, ready to take their share, and the family needed to be prepared.
Duncan's traps were set a short distance from the village, near the edges of the woods where small game often roamed. Rabbits were common, and if luck was with him, he might even catch a pheasant. The pelts, when they were in good condition, could fetch a decent price in the market.
As he approached his first snare, Duncan crouched low, inspecting the trap carefully. The loop had been disturbed, the grass trampled—he had caught something. Sure enough, a small rabbit lay ensnared in the trap, its lifeless body still. Duncan frowned slightly, checking the pelt for damage. It wasn't perfect, but it would do. He carefully removed the animal from the snare, resetting the trap before moving on to the next.
Alys finished scrubbing the last of the linens, her hands steady as she wrung out the water and placed the cloth back into the basket. The Vâltoare had done its job well, and she was grateful for the river's constant flow. It was an early morning chore, but one she preferred to complete before the other women of the village arrived to wash their clothes.
Hoisting the basket of damp linens onto her hip, she made her way back toward the house, the cool morning air now beginning to warm with the rising sun. The path wound along the edge of the village, small huts dotting the landscape here and there, smoke beginning to curl from chimneys as families woke to begin their day. Her own family was no different.
She could already hear the familiar voices of her younger brothers, Edd, who had seen thirteen name days, and Tommy, who had only ten. The two of them were likely arguing again, their usual way of working out who did which chores. She rounded the corner of their small home and spotted them near the grain fields, bickering as they gathered tools to start the day's work.
"Ye're always sayin' it's my turn," Tommy complained, his voice carrying over the morning air.
"That's because ye never do it proper," Edd replied, his tone firm as he slung a hoe over his shoulder. "Fields need tendin', an' the lord won't wait fer lazy boys."
Alys set the basket down by the house, her lips quirking into a small smile. "Quit yer fussin', both of ye," she called out, her tone light but firm. "Grain needs lookin' after, an' ye've both got hands ta do it."
The boys fell quiet, though Tommy cast a sulky look at his older brother before trudging off toward the field. Alys shook her head, watching them go. They were good boys, even if they had their moments. The fields were their responsibility, and though they grumbled, they knew as well as anyone how important the work was. Grain was the family's lifeblood, not just for their own table but for the local lord's tax as well. The lord's men would come for their share at harvest, and anything left over would have to stretch through the colder months.
As she turned to go inside, she saw her father, Duncan, approaching from the direction of the small woods near the village, carrying the results of his morning traps. Two rabbits and a pheasant hung from his belt, and though the catch wasn't large, it would do. One of the rabbits, at least, had a clean pelt.
"Mornin', lass," Duncan greeted her as he set the animals down near the shed. He wiped his brow with a cloth, the lines of age etched into his face. "How goes the morn?"
"Linens are washed," Alys replied, nodding toward the basket. "Edd an' Tommy are off ta tend the grain."
"Aye, that's good," Duncan said, inspecting the catch. "Pelts're clean enough. Might fetch a bit from the trader if he comes 'round this week. If not, we'll use 'em ourselves."
Alys glanced at the rabbits, noting the state of the pelts. One was in fair condition, but the other looked rough, not fit for selling. "What'll we do with the damaged one?" she asked.
Duncan shrugged. "Keep it. Make a blanket or patch the old boots. Winter's not far, an' we'll need all the warmth we can get."
Alys nodded. The Riverlands didn't have the harsh winters of the North, but the cold could still seep into their bones when the wind turned bitter. They'd have to be prepared, and every scrap of fur would help when the time came.
"I'll see to the fire an' breakfast," she said, stepping toward the door. "Boys'll need food afore they start."
Duncan gave a grunt of agreement as he set to work on the pelts, carefully cutting and inspecting each one. The pelts that were in good condition would be kept to sell, and the damaged ones would be patched together for winter garments or blankets. It was a routine they had perfected over the years—nothing went to waste.
After setting the linens aside and making sure the fire in the hearth was burning steadily, Alys turned her attention to the small pile of old clothes that needed mending. It was her responsibility to patch the worn tunics, trousers, and whatever else had seen better days. They couldn't afford to replace clothes regularly, so everything had to be made to last, often repaired several times over before being completely worn out.
She sat by the small window, where the sunlight streamed through in soft golden rays, and pulled the needle and thread from a small pouch her mother had once used. The clothes in the pile weren't too bad off—a few torn hems, a hole in one of Tommy's tunics from his rough play, and a pair of Duncan's trousers with a frayed knee. Nothing she couldn't manage.
As she stitched carefully, Alys thought about the pelts her father had brought back. The better ones would go to the trader, if he came by soon. The rest, she would likely be working into blankets or patching together for winter clothes. She wasn't yet as skilled as her mother had been with sewing, but she was learning fast. Each time she threaded the needle and worked the fabric, she felt a little more confident.
The day outside grew warmer, and she could hear her brothers laughing in the distance as they worked in the grain fields. They always found a way to turn their chores into games, even if they argued most of the time. Alys smiled to herself as she worked, the steady rhythm of the needle through the fabric keeping her focused.
By mid-morning, her sewing was nearly done, and the house was filled with the smell of breakfast. She'd set a pot of porridge on the fire, knowing her brothers and father would need the energy for the rest of the day's work. As she finished the last stitch on Duncan's trousers, she set them aside and stood to check on the food.
Outside, Duncan was skinning the rabbits with careful precision, his weathered hands moving swiftly over the fur. A few other men from the village passed by, calling out greetings, but Duncan remained focused on his work. His face was set in concentration—he took pride in making sure the pelts were as clean as possible, knowing they were worth more if they were in good condition.
Alys placed the porridge on the table and called out to her brothers, who came running from the fields, their faces flushed from the morning sun and exertion. They washed up quickly and sat down, eager to dig into the meal.
"Field's lookin' good," Edd said between bites, his tone proud. "Lord'll be pleased come harvest."
"Aye, if we keep at it," Duncan replied, his voice gruff but approving.
After breakfast, Duncan returned to his pelts, and Alys resumed her sewing. But as the sun climbed higher in the sky, her thoughts began to drift to the afternoon. When the chores were done, she knew she and the other children would gather by the river, as they often did, to play. They'd splash in the water, chase each other through the tall grass, and sometimes explore the edges of the forest. It was the one time in the day they could forget about their responsibilities and just be children.
But there were rules. They never went too far into the woods without an adult nearby. Wild animals were one concern, but bandits were another. There had been rumors of strangers on the roads recently, and the village elders were cautious. The last thing anyone wanted was for one of the children to wander too far and not come back.
For now, though, Alys focused on finishing her tasks, her fingers moving deftly as she worked the needle through the fabric. Soon enough, the time for play would come, and with it, a brief respite from the daily routine of village life.
By the time Alys and her brothers finished their morning chores, the sun was high, casting warmth over the village of Willowbank. The air was filled with the scent of freshly tilled earth and the sound of birds singing in the nearby trees. The boys had worked hard in the grain fields, and Alys had done her part, finishing the sewing and making sure the fire was tended.
It was time for a well-earned break.
"Are we goin' to the river now, Alys?" Tommy asked eagerly, his face still streaked with dirt despite his attempts to clean up. The excitement in his voice was unmistakable. He had been looking forward to the afternoon playtime all day.
"Aye," Alys replied with a smile, dusting off her hands. "Ye've done enough fer now. But ye'll have to wash proper once we get there."
With a quick nod, Tommy ran ahead, already too excited to wait. Edd, a bit more reserved but still keen to escape the fields, followed at a slower pace. Alys trailed behind, her heart light as the thought of splashing in the river, laughing with the other children, filled her with joy.
The path to the river wound through the edge of the village, past the grain fields that stretched toward the forest. Alys loved this time of day—the warmth of the sun on her skin, the softness of the grass underfoot, and the promise of fun with her friends. It was a chance to set aside the work and simply be a child again, if only for a short while.
As they reached the riverbank, Alys kicked off her shoes, letting her bare feet sink into the cool mud. She waded into the shallows with her brothers, the water refreshing against her skin after a morning spent tending to chores. The other village children were already there, laughing and playing. A few of the older boys were trying to skip stones across the water, while the younger ones splashed about, their shouts of joy echoing through the trees.
Alys joined in the games without hesitation, her usual sense of responsibility slipping away as she dashed through the water, splashing her brothers and ducking away when they tried to splash her back. She ran up and down the bank, her laughter mixing with the others as they chased each other through the tall grass.
For a while, all thoughts of sewing, washing, and the fields melted away. Alys felt free—free to run, free to laugh, free to be as playful as she liked. She even managed to sneak up on Edd, dousing him with a handful of water when he least expected it.
"Oi! Alys!" Edd shouted, but his mock outrage quickly turned into laughter as he splashed her back. "Ye won't get away that easy!"
The chase was on, Alys darting through the shallows, her brothers hot on her heels. She managed to escape their reach by climbing up onto a rock near the water's edge, her heart pounding with excitement.
But just as she caught her breath, something caught her eye—a movement further down the riverbank. Alys froze, her playful smile fading as she squinted into the distance. At first, she thought it might be one of the other village children wandering off, but no—it was someone she didn't recognize. A man, walking alone along the water's edge, moving with a slow, steady pace.
A stranger.
Alys's heart skipped a beat, and she looked back toward the group of children. They hadn't noticed yet, still absorbed in their games, but something about the stranger made her pause. He didn't look like anyone from Willowbank, and she wasn't sure what to make of him. His clothes were different—cleaner than a farmer's but simple. And he walked with the kind of ease that came with someone used to traveling.
For a moment, Alys was unsure whether to say something or keep watching. Strangers weren't common here, and though her curiosity burned, she knew better than to let it get the best of her. The woods weren't safe, and while this man didn't look dangerous, bandits came in all forms.